<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Jewels by Hail_Gothmog</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984121">The Jewels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_Gothmog/pseuds/Hail_Gothmog'>Hail_Gothmog</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ainur/Elves relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Esoterism, Multi, Oath of Fëanor, Occult, Slash, but with twists to the canon, unbeta'ed we die like Fëanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:14:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_Gothmog/pseuds/Hail_Gothmog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gifted from a young age, Curufin follows the path of his father and grandfather and learns the art of smithing. Desiring to excel, he goes to the forge of Aulë to receive a training worthy of the Ainur. He accesses to knowledge of old, long forgotten by the Elves, under the watchful eye of Mairon the Admirable. The heart of the Ñoldo lingers and he falls for the Maia. </p><p>Until he collapses under the Oath.</p><p>And he burns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Curufin | Curufinwë/Sauron | Mairon, Curufin | Curufinwë/Thuringwethil (Tolkien)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. PART I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be a self-indulgent slash fanfiction on the side (for those who are waiting for the 10th chapter of The Lord of the Rocks, it is coming!) of a rare pairing, because ultimately, Mairon x Curufin makes sense. But here we are, I had plot ideas.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes, exactly. Here, hold it. Gently, Curvo, gently, do not rush. Yes. Good. Now cut it. Perfect. It’s ready to be assembled. Where have you put the box and the ribbon? I’m going to fetch them.”</p><p>After weeks of training with Fëanor, Curufin had crafted an elegant and delicate golden pendant with onyx and amethyst stones carved by his father. The jewel was a gift the elfling wanted to make.</p><p>An apology. </p><p>He had fought with Caranthir about a month ago. Caranthir’s short temper was quick to burst when facing Curufin’s arrogance. And Curufin had let the icy façade fall, snarling and biting, shouting words that had come out before being thought. He had heard his brother yell. Their rising voices had been silented by Nerdanel separating them and sending them to their respective room.</p><p>Curufin had not spoken to Caranthir since then. He was stubborn, he could wait. Maedhros and Celegorm had tried to make him see reason but the child had not flinched, rather, his shell had thickened. Fëanor had seen through his mask; if Caranthir was quick to anger just like he was, Curufin’s regret was expressed through cold silence. If words were a music, to the elfling, they were sharp weapons. He knew he would never verbally apologise. Fëanor had taken his son by the hand and led him to the forge.</p><p>Now, he was leading him to Caranthir’s room.</p><p>Fëanor whispered something to Curufin, patted him on the back, and left in the corridor. </p><p>The Fëanorion straightened his back, took a deep breath and knocked at the door. </p><p>“Come in!” </p><p>Dread consumed his guts, he would collapse, he would faint. Not in front of him, not in front of him, he repeated this mantra over and over, again and again. </p><p>Caranthir was lazily spread on his bed, reading what seemed to be a novel. He stared at his younger brother with wary eyes, waiting. Curufin lowered his gaze. He stretched his arm; there was a small box in his hand. Caranthir took it, undid the tie and opened it. He took the necklace in his hands, carefully touching the chain and the stone pendant. Contemplative, he realised his brother had remarkable skills. He looked back at the elfling.</p><p>“I-, I-…” trembled Curufin. The expectant gaze of Caranthir weighted heavy. He felt like a stranger to this brother of sombre mood, yet of bright and friendly grey eyes. “I apologise for…” He clenched his hands behind his back, “For what I said.” His voice was nothing but a soft inaudible murmur. His eyes burned and blinded him. Tears rolled on his cheeks and crashed on the floor. “Please don’t hate me!” he desperately cried. “I did not-, I didn’t want to-, Moryo, please, I want to be your little brother again!” Sobs escaped his throat, harsh and devastated. Curufin brought his hands to his face, weeping. He fell on his knees, so little and so pained. Arms circled and embraced him. </p><p>“I forgive you,” whispered Caranthir to his ear, rocking his brother and drawing soothing circles on his back. Curufin clung to Caranthir’s shirt, still sobbing. </p><p>They both lost track of time. Curufin, exhausted from all those shedded tears, was half asleep on his brother’s chest. </p><p>“Go fetch your pyjama,” said this last one. “Sleep with me tonight. I want to know how you crafted the necklace.” </p><p>A bright smile illuminated the elfling’s face. He exited the room, running. </p><p>If words had the power to injure, gifts had the power to buy peace. </p><p>His brother still loved him.</p><p>Everything was alright.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><i>Centuries later</i><p>“This is magnificent, but… why did you make me a ring?” </p><p>“So you can ask Nelyo’s hand,” smirked Curufin.</p><p>Fingon stared, speechless. Next to him, Celegorm sniggered. </p><p>“You must know that,” continued the smith, addressing his cousin, “I gave a ring to your sister so she can ask Tyelko in marriage. I’m afraid he does not have the balls to do it himself.” </p><p>The Ñolofinwion muttered something under his breath, but grinned, amused, nevertheless. Celegorm, suddenly, was quiet and grim. </p><p>“’Celegorm the Fair' no longer interests her,” he frowned. “There is a certain Eöl, a heathen Dark Elf, who engaged in courtship with her. I must be too bright for her, I don't know. She followed Artanis’ example. I don’t understand what this secret power is the Sindar possess, but they sure as the Void take our ladies away from us.”</p><p>“Irissë and Artanis are <i>what?</i>” shouted Fingon. Tyelko’s eyes widened, realising his mistake. He put his hand in front of his mouth, but it was too late.</p><p>“I think,” slowly articulated Curufin, “it is best we pretend this conversation never happened. Now, I must go.” He patted his cousin’s shoulder, “I leave you in the foul hands of my wild brother. Be safe.” The Fëanorion left, ignoring Celegorm’s offended exclamations. </p><p>Curufin passed by his room to fetch his bag. He heard voices and laughter from the yard. He peeked through the window. </p><p>Findaráto. </p><p>He quickly backed away, his heart beating hard against his ribs. He softly exhaled, sat and rested his head against the wall. </p><p>“I knew I would find you here.”</p><p>Curufin, startled, opened his eyes. Amrod, leaning against the doorframe, cast him a raised eyebrow. </p><p>“Oh, it’s you.” He sighed his relief. It could have been Caranthir, or worse, Fëanor. He could not afford them to discover his… weakness. He stood up.</p><p>“I finished the book you lent me. I thought I might return it back before your departure,” said his younger brother, walking in his room. Curufin took his book back, thanking him. Principles of Astronomy: Calculation of the Distance was its title. The blacksmith put it in his already-too-full bag. Such book required to be read more than one time, and he would gladly go through its pages once more while he would be away. </p><p>“Did you like it?”</p><p>“Of course, it was a very enjoyable read,” answered Amrod. </p><p>Another laughter resonated through the room again. The brothers looked outside. Finrod clapped his thighs, hilarious. He then passed his arm around Maglor’s shoulders who was giggling as well, telling him things that were unheard to others. Curufin’s eyes darkened. </p><p>“Does Tyelko know?”</p><p>Curufin glanced at his brother and met calm dark grey knowing eyes. He paled. His brother was as intuitive as their mother and Maedhros. He must had sensed it. Curufin shook his head. </p><p>“Do you think atto and ammë know?”</p><p>Curufin weakly shrugged. “Please, do not tell Telvo…” he begged. The twins showed an exceptional complicity and shared all their secrets. Amrod huffed and put his hand on his brother’s back, walking him out of his room. </p><p>“He is a worse gossip than Tyelko and Kano combined, I am not foolish enough to put your dignity and integrity at such risk.”</p><p>“We are doomed if you do…” </p><p>“You don’t say.” </p><p>Curufin and Amrod went together to the stable. Curufin mounted his horse and said, “I shall tell grandpa you wish to grow a beard. This will make him happy. I will come and visit, I am sure a Maia of Aulë will be generous enough to fly me home occasionally. Take care!” Amrod laughed and waved at his brother. </p><p>Curufin had long understood that gift cannot repair nor buy everything. However, if his infatuation for the Arafinwion was not answered, his passion for craft still was burning.</p><p>He wished to become the best jewellery craftsman of the Ñoldor.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“Don’t fret child, Aulë and his Maiar can be intimidating, but they don’t bite. Rather, they don’t if you don’t interfere with their work and let them do their Ainurin business without putting your nose where you shouldn’t,” jovially said Mahtan to an anxious Curufin who looked like a frightened wet cat.<p>Curufin had been working for a week under his grandfather’s supervision, who made an evaluation of his skills, strengths and weaknesses. After he had confessed that his deepest desire was to excel at jewelry making, Mahtan had decreed Curufin was to train with one of the Maiar. They had cheered; they rarely encountered Firstborns, save for Mahtan himself, called ‘Aulendur’ by the Ainur. </p><p>They entered the forge of Aulë.</p><p>“Aulendur,” greeted a Maia. “It is good to see you.”</p><p>Curufin stared. The Ainu in front of him was tall, surely as all other Maiar who took incarnate forms, thought the Fëanorion. His skin was of a deep brownish grey colour with curious copper highlights; his eyes were pale yellow, almost white, and glowed in the dark; his hair was a dancing dark blue mist around his shoulder. </p><p>“Curvo, this is Curumo; Curumo, this is my grandson Atarinkë Curufinwë,” introduced Mahtan. </p><p>The Fëanorion placed his hand upon his heart and bowed his head respectfully. Curumo nodded, “Welcome, grandson of Mahtan and son of Nerdanel. I heard your heart lies in the passion of the making of jewels. Follow me. Our Lord Aulë designated you a mentor who shares your interest.” </p><p>Curufin followed the Maia. They crossed the most majestic entrance he had ever seen. The Ñoldo gasped. Before him were erected tall mountains of earth and rock, and a gigantic Man made of clouds and stars sang deep, fortifying the mountains thus. He instinctively stepped way. </p><p>His grandfather placed a reassuring hand on his back, “It is Lord Aulë that you see.” </p><p>The Fëanorion, overwhelmed in front of such power and beauty, silently cried. The Vala stopped his music, slowly turning his head towards them. A bright light blinded Curufin. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. In front of him stood a Man, as tall as Curumo, with blonde hair and brown skin. </p><p>“Well met, Curufinwë,” Aulë greeted him with his rich and deep voice. </p><p>The poor Elf tried hard to regain composure. “My-, my Lord,” he stuttered, which was followed by a laughter. </p><p>“Little one, I am not here to intimidate you. Please, be at ease!” </p><p>Curufin nodded, sheepishly wiping his cheeks. </p><p>“Where is Mairon?” asked the Vala, looking around him. </p><p>“I do not know, my Lord. I believe he is working,” answered Mahtan.</p><p>“Or daydreaming,” snorted Curumo. “My Lord, you must restrict the access of the forge to Melkor, it troubles Mairon every time.”</p><p>“If you believe it is within my power to stop Melkor doing what he pleases…” grumbled Aulë. “Has he disturbed any of you?”</p><p>“Oh, no. He was merely passing by and left as quickly as he appeared.” </p><p>Aulë sighed. He then called the Maia in a language unknown to Curufin. The air changed. Golden fired circled them, then went to Curufin, climbing on his body. The Ñoldo froze, uncertain. The fire left his body to take the appearance of a young Elda with amber eyes and venetian blond long hair in front of him. Unlike Aulë and Curumo who were impressive, the Maia was only slightly taller than him. </p><p>He was the most beautiful being Curufin had ever laid his eyes on. </p><p>“You must be Curufinwë. I am Mairon, ‘The Admirable’. You shall work with me,” chanted a melodic voice. “If we may… follow me.” The Ainu nodded goodbye to the others and turned around. Curufin politely bowed before Curumo and Aulë, hugged his grandfather and walked after Mairon. They walked towards the mountains. They passed through an enchanted gate that led to a forest. Mairon guided him between the imposing trees. Suddenly, they stopped. A doorframe stood in the middle of the forest, alone, just like the gate they had crossed before. Mairon chanted some spell and light appeared.</p><p>“Walk in,” the Maia commanded. Curufin obeyed. As soon as he passed through the light, he entered a forge that was alike to his grandfather’s and his father’s forges. He frowned. </p><p>“If you expected something celestial, I am sorry to disappoint. One works better in a familiar environment,” responded Mairon to his silent question. “I heard you were trained by your father who himself was trained by Mahtan. I assume you have integrated certain notions.” Mairon tied his hair. Curufin judged wise to imitate him. The Maia contemplated the Ñoldo. This last one lowered his gaze, nervous. </p><p>“Can you sing?”</p><p>Curufin jerked his head up, confused and unable to see the logic behind this question, “Me? Not too badly, so I do not put all the Quendi to shame, but I am absolutely nothing compared to my brother Makalaurë.”</p><p>“No,” sighed Mairon. “Can you use the Music of your fëa in order to create?”</p><p>“I’m afraid not,” replied Curufin. Was this how Ainur gave birth to new things and shaped the world?</p><p>The Ainu crossed his arms, his gaze locked to the Elda’s. “I must warn you I never had worked with incarnate beings,” he pronounced.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” interrupted the Fëanorion. </p><p>The Maia gestured impatiently, “Don’t be, it is not your fault. I did work with Mahtan, however, he already knew how to work with his fëa—Aulë taught him how to. I will see what I can do, however, it will take a little time before I understand your nature. Nevertheless, I expect we will make progress. After all, the teachings of the Ainur are to be transmitted amongst the Children of Ilúvatar.” </p><p>He paused, gazing at Curufin once more. “Give me your hands,” he said. The Fëanorion complied. Mairon softly brushed his thumb against Curufin’s palms, then intertwined his fingers with the Ñoldo’s.   The Maia then rested their hands against the Elda’s chest and hummed a low song. Curufin felt warmth circulating through his body. A silver light emanated; he shone. It slowly faded. Mairon, satisfied, let him go. </p><p>“We may begin,” he declared. He clapped his hands, “I want you to forge the simplest earrings possible. I will analyse your technique. All the material here is at your disposal.”</p><p>They had worked for long hours, under Mairon’s vigilant eyes. </p><p>Curufin tidied the tools where they belonged. He was exhausted, yet satisfied, and so was his teacher, albeit this last one did not feel tiredness the same way he did. He undid his bun, ready to go. </p><p>“Mairon,” the Fëanorion started, “where do I go next? I cannot remember what was agreed upon—whether I sleep at my grandfather’s or not.”</p><p>“At my place,” answered the Maia. “My residence is close to the forge. Take the back door to exit.” </p><p>Curufin nodded and followed the smith’s indications. The scene before him left him speechless; there was a small and picturesque village of pale blue brick houses. The place was lush, adorned with flamboyant and exotic flowers; the streets, softly illuminated with floating lights. </p><p>“This is where the Maiar of Aulë and Yavanna reside,” said Mairon behind him.</p><p>“But where is the forest? And the mountains?”</p><p>Mairon pointed east, “There, in the distance. I used a portal so we could reach the forge faster. It is a form of space travel. Beyond the mountain range is where you live.” </p><p>Mairon lived at the north end of the village. His house was considerably smaller than Fëanor’s primary residence, but as the Maia explained, he needed not a fortress. He showed his student the guest room and the bathroom. “Meet me in the dining room when you are done,” he said. </p><p>“A dining room… You cook?” enquired Curufin, surprised. “I believed Ainur did not eat at all.” </p><p>“Some of us do enjoy the taste of food when we wear incarnate bodies,” shrugged Mairon. “I also am a shapeshifter—most Ainur are limited to three or four forms but I am not—I must be able to experience all senses accurately, and taste is one of them.” </p><p>A bell rang at the back of Curufin’s mind. Then he remembered. Nerdanel, when he was an elfling, had shared lively tales about this Maia who would turn into all possible creature of Aman and Arda to amuse her when Mahtan brought her to the forge. Even years after, after Curufin had spent long sessions at the forge with his father, she would make comparison with this Ainu. He was beautiful, loved order, was talented at his craft and took great care of her when she lived with her father.</p><p>Realisation hit him. </p><p>His new mentor was the Maia his mother long admired.</p><p>The one she loved.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“Empty your mind. Focus on your breathing. I want you to imagine each single particle of air penetrating your lungs. Exhale. Slowly.”<p>They were in Mairon’s living room. Curufin lied on the floor, his eyes closed and his palms turned towards the sky. </p><p>“Good. Very good. Now, I want you to free your mind from your thoughts. Imagine your fëa is free from its flesh prison. Imagine it flying out of your body. Feel yourself float above. Then, your fëa becomes smaller and is attracted to a vortex. The vortex is your song.”</p><p>Curufin concentrated. He had heard of Maglor speaking about astral projections but paid no attention—such esoterism was unnecessary to his craft, or so he believed, and Maglor’s babbles were often induced by a signification ingestion of alcohol. A light buzz shook his body. He deeply breathed, but the feeling was gone as soon as it appeared. A frustrated groan escaped his throat. After days of hard labour, he faced a wall and was in the impossibility to connect to his Song. He had never done such thing and fright lingered still. Nevertheless, his will power had ought to overcome his fear, or so he repeatedly tried to convince himself.  </p><p>“Take off your shirt.” Mairon’s honeyed voice interrupted his inner discouragement.</p><p>“What?” Curufin sat up, incredulous. </p><p>“You heard me. I need to see the muscles you engage when you breathe. You need my aid.” </p><p>The Ñoldo complied to this strange request. What he witnessed next left him speechless; Mairon’s amber eyes changed to dark red—there was no pupil, no iris, no white, only the colour of blood. His hair changed to fire dancing around his shoulders, while a vertical third eye appeared on the Maia’s forehead, dark orange with a bright yellow pupil. </p><p>“Unused to Ainur’s physical forms, I see,” smirked the Maia, revealing his fangs under his pulpy lips. He pressed a clawed hand on Curufin’s shoulder to make him lie again. He then brushed his palms on the Elda’s ribs, before sliding them on his stomach. The Fëanorion gasped under the touch. “Let’s do it again,” softly commanded Mairon. </p><p>Curufin closed his eyes, emptied his mind and exhaled. He felt himself exit his body and float in the air. A distant voice chanted and attracted him. He let himself be guided by the song. Everything around him buzzed. Something sucked him from within. He tried to breathe but could not. His hröa drowned. </p><p>Suddenly, there was music that brought him to life. He listened to the song carefully. It emanated from his chest and travelled to his hands. His instinct was to open his mouth to sing, but nothing came. The melody ran through his legs, then slowly, reached his throat and his head. </p><p>He sang. </p><p>Something called him back. </p><p>He fell.</p><p> </p><p>When he opened his eyes, his head rested on Mairon’s lap. He panted, dizzy and exhausted. Dark red eyes bore into grey. “You succeeded. You merely needed a little help,” murmured the Maia. Curufin nodded. He felt nauseous. </p><p>Mairon noticed, placed his hand above the Ñoldo’s face, and whispered an incantation. Curufin felt blue light running through his body. He shivered. When the light faded, sickness had vanished. </p><p>He glanced at Mairon and passed out.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“There is nothing to fear. You merely need to sing your song with your fëa when the jewel is taking shape, thus your craft shall be more sustainable. You create its own soul. Fear not, it does not drain your own power; this self-extraction technique is hardly known of the Ainur, only the Vala Melkor masters it. Remember to breathe. You might feel that your craft builds a spirit on its own.”<p>Curufin hummed his Song. The circlet shone.</p><p>He had succeeded.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I swear (oops, I shouldn't, oaths are le Bad TM) I spent more time on Tolkien Gateway and One Wiki to Rule Them All to read about everyone's biography than typying the actual thing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. PART II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They—Curufin and Mahtan—had safely landed, in front of a bewildered Celegorm, a confused Amras, a shocked Caranthir and a barking Huan. The two Ñoldor had taken the decision to visit Nerdanel and Fëanor for a week, which agreed with Mairon’s order of a well-deserved break. Since traveling on horses presented itself as a time-consuming option, Mairon had therefore transformed into a giant albatross to fly them to Tirion. He transformed into his fair form as soon as the Ñoldor had moved from his back, under the eyes of astonished Fëanorions. </p><p>“I thought you trained with grandpa,” Celegorm addressed his brother.</p><p>“We did, for a few days or so. Mairon became my teacher soon after,” explained Curufin. The brothers stared at the Maia who silently stood behind Curufin. </p><p>“First time meeting an Ainu, children?” said Mahtan while crushing Caranthir into a bear hug. “This is Mairon; Mairon, these are my demons.”</p><p>“I suppose I shall meet the others soon?” the Maia asked Curufin—he knew Curufin had more brothers.</p><p>“Surely,” the Ñoldo answered. “If they are home, that is, my brothers often escape to our cousins’.” </p><p>“I see. I do hope to meet Nerdanel. She was pregnant of the twins when I last chatted with her.”</p><p>“You know ammë?” exclaimed Celegorm, surprised.</p><p>“Aye, child, she grew up under the watchful eye of Mairon and Curumo,” replied Mahtan, who now was carrying Amras on his shoulders. </p><p>“Ammë did speak of you; I know your name,” recalled Caranthir. He frowned, “But your eyes are not red like she said you had."</p><p>“He is a shapeshifter,” precised Curufin. </p><p>“Turn into a dog, so Huan can have a playmate!” shouted Celegorm.</p><p>“Tyelko,” groaned Caranthir, facepalming.</p><p>Mairon paid no attention; he was lovingly scratching Huan’s neck. </p><p>Their presence was announced as soon as they walked into the mansion. Mahtan shouted his daughter’s name, loud and cheerful. Nerdanel came running, taking both Mahtan and Curufin in her embrace. When she let them go, she gasped, “Mairon? What are you doing here?” The Ainu had no time to open his mouth to explain that Nerdanel threw herself around his neck, holding him tight. Curufin watched the scene with close interest; he had not known Mairon could enjoy physical affection. The Maia was of a very practical and calculating character. The Fëanorion shrugged and went to his room, followed by Celegorm who was overwhelmingly happy to have Curvo back. </p><p>When they went back to the living room, Nerdanel was sitting on the couch, her head resting on Mairon’s shoulders, while Mairon’s arm was behind her back and his hand on her waist, sharing anecdotes with the family. The Maia’s eyes were shut in relaxation, save for his third eye, open and alert. </p><p>“Atya?” said Celegorm.</p><p>Fëanor was a few steps away from the doorframe, his arms crossed. “Why is he here,” he darkly muttered. </p><p>“You know each other?” Celegorm looked at his father.</p><p>“Yes. He openly threatened me, said he would curse my fëa, should I lay a hand on Nerdanel.” Beneath the answer of Fëanor were hidden other reasons he would not speak of.</p><p>“Mairon cares for ammë, but,” started Curufin, who understood, “he has no other interest than the evolution of Arda and its making, he will not bring her back to the forge of Aulë. Don’t stare at me like that, he told me. And no, Tyelko, I won’t give you more details, ask ammë or atya yourself.”</p><p>Celegorm closed his mouth, then glanced at his father expectedly. </p><p>“I shall trust your word,” sighed Fëanor. “Nevertheless, if only he could keep his hands away from your mother.” He turned around. “I will be walking the dog, if anyone is looking for me.”</p><p>“I’m coming,” decreed Celegorm, obviously suggesting he would not let his father go away without giving him the full story. Fëanor responded with a half-heartened dismissive gesture of the hand, but nonetheless allowed his son to trot at his side.</p><p>Curufin observed his mother and Mairon, pensive. </p><p>He too wished he could snuggle with a certain person.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“Would that be enough?”<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>“No, thanks to you. Those saris are magnificent.”</p><p>Curufin gave the merchant the money that was due, carefully placed his purchases in his bag, and wandered around the market. Spicy scent caressed his nostrils. He stood in front of the Vanyarin restaurant, considering eating there, seduced by the exotic smells that emanated. </p><p>“I can affirm Vanyarin cuisine is worth the try,” said a voice next to his ear.</p><p>Curufin turned around. “Ingoldo!” he cried, “You startled me!” </p><p>Finrod gratified him with one of his most beautiful smiles, “I hope it was not of fright.”</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>“Curvo, you insult me,” said the Elda, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. </p><p>“Of surprise,” groaned the Fëanorion, “it was of surprise. Now, do you want to-, do you want to eat, or-…?” </p><p>Curufin mentally kicked himself. His heart pounded hard, threatening to break his ribs. When he was in Felagund’s presence, words escaped him, in the meantime, clumsiness took over. He took a deep breath; he would not make a fool out of himself once again. </p><p>“I was about to invite you first, but if you insist,” grinned Finrod. Curufin smiled back, his eyes glistening from excitement. They ordered their meals and sat at a table next to a window. </p><p>“What were you doing in the market today? I had word concerning your departure to the forge of Mahtan,” enquired the Arafinwion.</p><p>“My mentor judged a week of rest was necessary, and grandpa wanted to see the family,” Curufin took a sip of water, trying to calm his nerves down. “I bought Telerin saris for my teacher and my mother—it is her birthday soon, but I will be back at the forge, therefore miss it—and one for myself. They are stunning.” </p><p>“Teleri are excellent at giving their clothes vivid colours and embroidery,” Finrod proudly said. </p><p>“Right, you have more Vanyarin and Telerin blood in you than Ñoldorin,” smirked the Fëanorion. “Hence the golden hair that prevails in your family.”</p><p>“Says the pure-blooded Ñoldo whose siblings, mother and grandfather have red hair,” retorted Felagund with amusement. “I thought Ñoldor were characterised by their pale skin, grey eyes and dark hair.”</p><p>“My grandfather jokes it is Aulë’s gift,” shrugged Curufin. “Red hair is not uncommon among Dwarves. And he has a beard. You know, at the forge of Aulë, they call him ‘Aulendur’, perhaps he is a Dwarf in disguise?” </p><p>“How do you know how they call him? You went to the forge of Aulë?” Finrod’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe it.”</p><p>The Fëanorion nodded. “Only once, however. My mentor trains me at his personal forge.”</p><p>“I thought Mahtan was your mentor.”</p><p>“No, he is no expert for what I seek to achieve. I am learning the art of jewellery with a Maia of Aulë.” </p><p>His interlocutor whistled, “Certainly you are gifted with Eru’s good will.” </p><p>Curufin blushed, but thankfully for him, the waiter interrupted their conversation by bringing their meals. They chatted about nothing and everything, ordered wine, and thereafter went on a directionless wandering, enjoying each other’s company. Laying on the hill where they ended their journey, they joked and laughed, finishing the bottle of wine. Finrod gazed at the Fëanorion, intensively. This last one lowered his eyes, unable to suppress the pink that coloured his pale cheeks. Finrod cupped his face. “The silver light of the night is nigh,” he murmured, his breath a hot breeze against Curufin’s lips. “Let’s meet tomorrow, at the same restaurant. I’m inviting you this time.” </p><p>Curufin frowned, “You have paid your own meal, I did not properly-”</p><p>“And you have paid your own as well. What I’m offering is a proper invitation. Do you agree?”</p><p>Curufin glanced at his cousin’s bright blue eyes, immense pearls of azure. “I do,” he softly answered. </p><p>Finrod smiled, “Now, if you allow me…” He closed the space between them, sealing his lips to Curufin’s. Felagund tasted like spiced wine. Curufin returned the gesture shyly, almost chastely. When he opened his eyes, the Arafinwion’s gaze burnt with desire. </p><p> </p><p>He penetrated in the main hall, almost furtively. </p><p>“Where were you? Certainly, you didn’t spend all the afternoon at the market, did you?”  </p><p>Curufin jumped, startled. Oh. It was Maedhros.</p><p>“No. Yes. Well, yes, at the beginning, but not after.” </p><p>His brother raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I met,” continued the smith. He noticed Maglor coming from the drawing room, walking to them. “...Artanis. We went at the Vanyarin restaurant and tried new wine,” he lied. He could not mention Finrod’s name in front of his older brother.</p><p>“Hey, Curvo, there you are! I wanted to ask you to repair the circlet I broke, but the Maia is taking care of it,” said Maglor. </p><p>“I assume Mairon is at the forge?” asked the younger brother.</p><p>“I think so,” answered the musician.</p><p>“No, he is right here.”</p><p>The three Fëanorions jumped, taken by surprise. Mairon stood behind Curufin, his three eyes shining with mischief. He gave Maglor a small box, “Do come to see me if the changes I made aren’t to your taste. Curufinwë, would you have a minute? I have something to show you about the carving of amethyst stones and their healing properties. Nelyafinwë, Kanafinwë,” he nodded them goodbye and walked to the guest’s room, followed by his pupil. </p><p>Once inside, the Ainu left out a relieved sigh, half smiling to himself, “I do not wish to discuss the amethyst, I merely saved you from what seemed to be a delicate situation. Your entire mind screamed for help.”</p><p>“You are correct, I did not expect to bump into my brothers.”</p><p>“You have six, it must be a challenge not to,” hummed Mairon. </p><p>Curufin scoffed, it indeed was. Caranthir succeeded to have a bit of privacy by enclosing himself in the library, and Amrod at the stable, taking care of the horses. He personally could go to the forges for a bit of peace, but more than often was dragged by Celegorm into his shenanigans, often accompanied by Aredhel. </p><p>He delicately took a sari from his bag. </p><p>“I have something for you,” the Ñoldo offered. </p><p>The Maia took the sari, unfolded it and carefully brushed his claw-like nails on the rich golden embroidery on the copper coloured cloth. He snapped his fingers, making his tunic disappear, now being only covered by leggings. Curufin could not detach his eyes from Mairon’s body, even if courtesy dictated to gaze elsewhere; he could feel the magic circulate beneath the muscles and the tan skin. He noticed the nipple rings and the jewel that hung under his pierced belly button. The Ainu, unperturbed by Curufin’s stare, draped the sari around his shoulders and his stomach in a way that his left arm was covered, but his right pectoral was revealed. </p><p>“This is remarkably well done,” he complimented it, visibly content. </p><p>“I am glad you appreciate,” responded Curufin. </p><p>The Fëanorion gazed at the Ainu’s face, drawn to his features. Mayhap the eyes and the hair were of the most disconcerting at first glance, these un-Elven attributes were what made this face the purest form of beauty. Pity I am a mere Elf, and none to be compared to him, thought Curufin. </p><p>A touch on his lips extracted him from his rêverie. Mairon pressed his thumb on his mouth. The Maia glanced at his hand absent-mindedly, then gazed at his student, cocking his head. An unexplainable feeling of guiltiness made Curufin lower his head. The Ainu took his chin, “Do not let it distract you from your essence. Be careful whom you bound with.” The voice was smooth, but the command was decisive. </p><p>The Fëanorion realised no secret could be hidden from the radar of the Maia. </p><p> </p><p>Curufin met Finrod the next day, and the next two others. They chatted, they talked, they laughed, they held hands. The heart of Felagund was free, or so he claimed, and Curufin ignored Mairon’s warning. He lost himself in the sea of the Arafinwion’s eyes to never come back and only drown in them. They walked on the beach. To the horizon rumbled a tempest; heavy black clouds violently waltzed with thunderlight with high waves. The clouds roared and shook through their bodies. They had never seen a tempest of the kind.</p><p>“What is this?” gasped Finrod, his hands on his head, at complete disbelief. </p><p>“Ossë and Melkor,” provided Curufin. “They will not approach the shore. They are far away, although they appear closer than they are.” </p><p>Felagund huffed, hands on his hips, “Ainur. I don’t think I have once met one, closely, at least.”</p><p>“Perhaps you once met Oromë with Tyelko, but Oromë chooses to wear a form that is not impressive to Elves and Men. His spirit, however, is everywhere in the forests.” </p><p>“Listen to you, Ainurin connoisseur,” gently mocked the Arafinwion. “I would like to meet this Maia of yours, one day. But for now,…” He licked his lips, “We have more pressing matters.”</p><p>He kissed Curufin, gently opening his mouth and teasing the Fëanorion’s upper lip. The smith responded fiercely, pressing his body against Finrod’s, his hands entangled in his cousin’s golden mane. Felagund broke the kiss, panting. He rested his forehead against the Fëanorion’s and felt his hardness growing between his legs, demanding. Curufin gazed at him, his grey eyes questioning. The Ñoldo shyly put his lips on Finrod’s neck. This last one’s appreciative exhale was the confirmation he needed. He devoured his cousin’s nape and captured his ears between his lips. The Arafinwion shivered. </p><p>Hands traveled, lips captured each other back arched, hips moved. Curufin lost track of time. He felt hands undoing his breeches. His breath was cut short. Finrod released his erect member and put it in his mouth. Curufin gasped. The shaft, sensitive, was almost painful. Felagund sucked gently. He moaned, moaned and moaned. Finrod, gripping the Fëanorion’s hip, pleasured himself with his other hand. </p><p>“Ingoldo, I-,” grunted the smith. </p><p>His sensed shirked. His release came. He fell on his knees, panting and trembling, lying on the sand and kissing Finrod until this last one reached his own deliverance.</p><p>Felagund smiled. </p><p> </p><p>Curufin sighed, knotting his large cotton belt around his waist. Swimming in the sea, no matter how enjoyable it was, did not prevent his clothes from being full of sand and his hair looking like a bird nest. He had immediately rushed to the bathing room as soon as he was back home. He unconsciously brushed the sleeves of his night robe, expecting some grain of sand to fall. He went to his room, collapsed on his bed, ecstatic. </p><p>He did not know Mairon had watched him in the corridor. </p><p>The Maia walked away. He saw Amrod passing by. </p><p>Excellent. This brother knew what was going on. “Pityafinwë!” he interpelled him. </p><p>The Fëanorion turned around at the sound of his name, “Mairon?”</p><p>“We must move to a place that offers more privacy.”</p><p>“Of-, of course. Why is that?” </p><p>Mairon stayed still. Realising he would not be granted any answer before they move, Amrod sighed. “Come with me,” he gestured with his head. They entered his room. “You may sit at the table,” invited the Fëanorion.</p><p>“No need,” replied the Maia, “I shall be brief. I assume you are aware Curufinwë is infatuated with a cousin of yours.”</p><p>“Findaráto, yes,” slowly articulated Amrod, wary. </p><p>“Tell me, why is this Findaráto’s smell on both Curufinwë and your brother Kanafinwë?”</p><p>An indignant swear found its way out of the Ñoldo’s throat. “The pig,” he growled. He rubbed his forehead, “He is cheating on Kano with Curvo, I cannot believe-”</p><p>“Curufinwë had been told Findaráto maintained no other liaison,” Mairon interrupted him. </p><p>“But how can you-” started Amrod, outraged.</p><p>The Ainu made a dismissive gesture with his hand. He merely knew, he needed no proof when the others’ minds and memories were accessible to him.</p><p>The Elda’s shoulders slumped. “Right,” he muttered. He groaned, “We must tell Moryo. Moryo is close to both Kano and Ingoldo. He will… know what to do. Do not tell anyone else, the entire Tirion will know before your finish your sentence if you do so.”</p><p>“I figured,” commented Mairon, but Amrod was no longer listening. </p><p>They quickly reached the library, where Caranthir was indeed there, scribbling on a parchment. Fortunately, there was no one else in the room. The Fëanorion raised an inquisitive brow. Amrod sat in front of him, not losing a second, “Ingoldo. He’s sleeping with Kano.”</p><p>“Is that so...” slowly articulated Caranthir. </p><p>“And he’s seeing Curvo.”</p><p>“Pardon me?”</p><p>“Your cousin,” repeated Mairon, “is engaged in sexual relationships with two of your brothers and is deliberately lying to both of them.” </p><p>“He what?” eructed Caranthir. “He cannot!”</p><p>“He does,” confirmed Amrod, while Mairon said “I smelled his scent on both of them.” </p><p>“He is courting Amarië!”</p><p>“And who must that be?” the Maia crossed his arms. </p><p>“A Vanyarin maiden.” </p><p>Amrod and Mairon looked at each other. </p><p>“How can I be sure none of you is lying?” asked Caranthir, trying to think. </p><p>“Do you sincerely believe I would waste my time lying about the love adventures of mere Children of Ilúvatar?” huffed Mairon disdainfully. </p><p>“I suppose you are right… Melkor damn Ingoldo… I won’t allow it,” roared Caranthir. He abruptly stood up, going to the exit.</p><p>“Hey, hey, what are you doing” Amrod tried to stop him. </p><p>“Talk to Curvo, then to Kano,” dryly cut the Ñoldo, almost running. “Then tell Tyelko. And Nelyo. I’d pay to witness the two give Findaráto the lesson he deserves. Listen to me very carefully, I refuse that my brothers are played with like dolls you can forget whenever it pleases you to.” </p><p>He knocked at Curufin’s door, “Curvo? Curvo? It’s Moryo. May I enter? I won’t be long.” He cast Mairon and Amrod a glance, then disappeared behind the door he closed. Amrod sat down, sighing, while Mairon leaned his back against the wall, his arms crossed and his face emotionless. They heard muffled exclamations. After what seemed to be an eternity, Caranthir went out the room. “He knows,” he grimly announced. “I have another brother to tell the news. Pityo, come with me.” </p><p>Mairon’s third eye followed them until they turned at the corner at the end of the corridor. He heard a crash from the other side of the wall. The Maia passed through the door like water. </p><p>What once was a vase was reduced to pieces on the floor, its flowers drowning in poured water. Curufin, dishevelled and pale, was nothing but a haggard ghost caught in fright, staring at the vase he destroyed, pulling his long black hair. Mairon got around the mess, passed an arm on the Ñoldo’s stomach, turned him around and directed him to the bed. Curufin fell like a soulless shell. The Maia stayed close, brushing his hand on the Fëanorion’s chest. </p><p>“He told me he saw no one else…” The Elda’s voice was a faint murmur. Air was caught in his throat. The world around him seemed to fall to pieces. </p><p>He cried.</p><p>He cried the trickery; he cried the lies and the injustice. He curled around himself, his face behind his hands to mask his misery. </p><p>A soft voice chanted within him, smooth and caring. He felt legs entangled in his, a hot breath against his hands murmuring phrases in an old mystic forgotten language, fingers running through his hair, a hand caressing his cheek, his jaw, his nape. The Ñoldo clung to the shoulder that was pressed against his. A tongue slid on his cheeks, wiping his tears away.</p><p>“I don’t want to see him,” Curufin choked his anger. “How could he-, what did he-, he shall pay, oh, he <i>will</i> pay.” </p><p>Mairon hummed, a low vibration resonating through his chest, and the cheeks of his protégé. There was no point in discussing reason, even if salvation brought little satisfaction when accomplished, and it was ill-minded to wish for it. He continued to sing, reinforcing the proximity with the Fëanorion. His third eye was closed, his forehead pressed against his pupil’s. </p><p>Curufin eventually calmed down, his eyes red and puffy, his face exhausted and sombre. He lifted his eyelids, facing the Maia, this last one’s gaze patient and knowing. </p><p>“I feel music under my skin,” the Ñoldo numbly said. He felt a song running through his body, buzzing his nervous system. Soothing waves undulated within him. </p><p>“It is my doing,” murmured the Ainu, tucking a strand of hair behind Curufin’s ear. “Tell me, what do you like about forging jewels?”</p><p>“I can offer gifts,” Curufin answered. “Swords are vile, they harm and kill. We are Incarnates, as you once said, we are attached to this body we were born with, injuries caused by weapons can be fatal. I do not wish to create what makes bloodshed.” </p><p>A voice sang between his ears, its music echoing in his veins. </p><p>Mairon took the hand of the Fëanorion and brought the wrist to his mouth. “Curufinwë, listen to me,” he commanded, “the making of jewellery is more complex than decorating, embellishing and pleasing—and avoiding blood to be shed.” </p><p>The Ñoldo felt fangs pierce through his skin. Blood drops rolled on his arm, staining his sleeve. </p><p>“Amongst other things, jewellery can repair,” continued the Maia, “but it cannot undo what has been done. Look: I bit you and there is a wound. I cannot suppress my previous action that led to this consequence. However…” He licked the wound then applied a pressure on it with his fingers. “Men in a placed in Arda called ‘Rhûn’ put gold between the cracks of their pottery. It does not erase the damage—and yet. It uses the default to improve it. I do not wish to destroy, I wish to build a better universe.” </p><p>On these words, Mairon removed one of his heavy wristbands and slid it on Curufin’s wrist. He lowered his red eyes on his student’s face. “Gifts are good when given from the heart, a form of disinterested love. You cannot buy someone with gifts, Curufinwë, except if you are seeking for a spontaneous relief. Be conscious this relief is to quickly fade. If you swear by gifts alone, you will run to your fall.” </p><p>Curufin’s mind was away. Mairon turned his head towards him. Silver irises hid behind a veil of tears. “Forget this Findarato,” ordered the Ainu. “He is not part of your design.” </p><p>Mairon parted his lips and kissed the Elda, still humming. The Fëanorion felt music penetrate his mouth.</p><p>Curufin did not let him go and fell asleep in the arms of a spirit of Fire.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“If I bump into him, I swear to Oromë I’ll punch him hard,” rumbled Celegorm.<p>“I allow myself to doubt that you may receive the approval of Oromë if you indulge in such actions. I used to believe his teachings highlighted the importance of one’s life and to not waste the resources that are given to us by the mercy of the Valar. Oh, look, pastries from Beleriand,” retorted Mairon. The Fëanorion glared at him. </p><p>“Didn’t you desire to purchase clothing appropriate for hunting for you and the twins?” pursued the Maia. “Go, the shop is nearby. In the meantime, I will enjoy delicacies from Middle Earth—this market of foreign cuisines is a remarkable idea, I salute your grandfather the High King for such open mindness—I shall come to you once I am done,” he decreed. Celegorm was one to defy orders and authority, but Mairon was one to have his orders followed. He waved his hand and complied. </p><p>Satisfied, the smith looked around him. He smirked. There he found him. He walked to the Falmarin bakery and sat by the table. </p><p>“I apologise if I seem rude, but have we met before?” asked Finrod, confused. </p><p>Mairon cocked his head, charmingly smiling. “We have not,” he purred. </p><p>“I am waiting for someone,” firmly stressed Felagund.</p><p>“You are, and for long, for he shan’t come,” chuckled the Maia. “I think perhaps, with a bit of luck, his brother will come to find you. ” </p><p>The Arafinwion opened his mouth to reply but was cut by his interlocutor. “Not the brother you are thinking of. Instead, the one whose hair is silvery and who is nicknamed ‘the Fair’. I heard he was very eager to meet you. Ah, and the tall red-haired one two. Russandol, I believe? In any way, you are lucky your uncle is unaware of it all.” </p><p>Finrod paled against his will. His discomfort grew when he felt a cold wave wash through his body. Behind the Elf (was he an Elf, really? Perhaps he was the Maia who trained Curufin...) sit in front of him grew a large eyeball of fire that pierced through his being and spoke in a harsh language he could not understand. Felagund blinked. The vision disappeared. </p><p>“What-…” he rasped.</p><p>“Oh, I merely was curious to know what the role of your existence was.” Mairon stood up and brushed his black robe decorated with rubies and emeralds. He smiled to Arafinwion, “I am afraid we shall meet again.” The Maia bowed his head and departed. </p><p>Finrod had the unexplainable feeling he would die in the hands of this person he just met.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. PART III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It does not work!”</p><p>Curufin took his head between his hands and sighed deeply. Mairon had introduced him to minerals and stones with healing properties. After an exhaustive studying of their formation in the earth and their characteristics, the Maia had taught his student their carving and polishing. The hands of his students were skilful and moved with acute precision, but his heart was darkened with resentment, unable to connect with the energy of his material. For this exercise, they were in Mairon’s abode; the forge did not offer the comfort of couches and cushions. The Maia was cooking in the meantime—eating was a pleasure he particularly favoured. Gaining no reaction, the Fëanorion took a deep breath and concentrated. He could not hear his Song, perhaps the stones would reach to him first?</p><p>Mairon delicately moved the stones away and put a plate in front of his student. A salad with nuts and vegetables he had never tasted before. The forest that surrounded them was Yavanna’s doing and was inhabited by wonders and delights, and her goodness and love of all living things emanated from the trees and the ground. Curufin thanked his mentor and ate with appetite. </p><p>“You are still thinking of him, aren’t you?”</p><p>Curufin lowered his fork down, staring at his plate. He did not dare to answer. Mairon took a bite, patiently waiting. </p><p>“Yes, I am,” admitted the Ñoldo in defeat. He channelled all his energy at the forge, but it proved to be unsuccessful to remove the bitterness away permanently—if at the forge he could forget, the memory came to haunt him once he stepped out.  </p><p>Mairon nodded. They ate in silence. </p><p>“Come with me,” he had told Curufin a few hours later. They had walked in the forest until they had found a glade, for a reason that was known only by the Maia. </p><p>Mairon faced Curufin, his face stoic and his posture composed. A golden dust covered him; he shapeshifted. In front of the Ñoldo now stood Finrod Felagun. </p><p>“You may scream, insult and punch,” he said. The Fëanorion froze; it was Finrod’s voice. “Do everything you dream to, except…” the Maia paused, “no carnal pleasures, no farewell kiss.” </p><p>“This will not work; I know you are Mairon…” Curufin trailed off. </p><p>A guilty expression was painted on Finrod’s smooth face. “I am really, really sorry, Curvo, I-,” he stuttered, fidgeting. “Look, I did not mean to-, to hurt you! I swear! I swear! I wanted to wait and see how it would evolve between us!”</p><p>It was too credible, and everything the Fëanorion wanted to hang onto. He immediately forgot it was not the real Felagund in front of him. </p><p>Curufin huffed, “Of course! Therefore I was your third play toy on the list! I am certain you told Kano the same! Why did you do that? Why? And this Vanya, the courtship you have with her, is this nothing but a waltz of simulacra?”</p><p>The Arafinwion choked. He passed a nervous hand through his hair. “No… We are not engaged, nothing of the sort, I planned to leave her if things were promising between you and I. Believe me, please!” he begged.</p><p>“You should have thought of it before you kissed me,” spat the smith. Raged tears rolled on his cheeks. </p><p>“I swear I won’t do it again,” faintly cried Felagund. He took Curufin’s hands. </p><p>This last one saw red. He insulted his insulted his cousin, walked around him in circles, wildly gesturing. He snarled his anger and disappointment, he resented his broken hopes, his tormented heart reduced to pieces. And finally, he punched him. Finrod wiped his bleeding nose, his lips trembled; his hand was covered with blood. The Fëanorion reached out, guilty. “I’m-, I’m sorry…” Felagund slapped his hand away. “I truly did not want to hurt you…” repeated Curufin. His cousin stared at him, his expression indescribable. A bright light illuminated him. </p><p>“Here we are,” scoffed Mairon, brushing golden dust from his arms and hair. He cast Curufin a glance, who was sitting and curled on himself. “Oh, child…” The Maia kneeled, “You have expressed what you had to. It is over now. I had not realised how fragile the Children of Ilúvatar are.” His whispered, his face close to the Ñoldo’s, “Remember your words. You never wished to harm. There shall be battles to fight and wars to partake in the future. Remember your essence when the day you will wield a sword will come; whether you will engage in them or not is up to you. Stand up. We are going home.” </p><p> </p><p>This was the only time Mairon had allowed Curufin to break under his emotions. The Maia had seemed compassionate, but only the development of the Ñoldo’s potential was his main matter; he would not let his teachings be easily forgotten. “Think greater than time,” had once said the Ainu. “Question yourself: how will your actions impact the ten next generations? Men, Orcs and Dwarves die; Elves and Ainur do not. Existence is a cyclical force; we are its actors and its receptacles.”</p><p>Sometimes, he would lead Curufin to the forge, sit at the corner, and say, “Surprise me.” Curufin, he believed, must learn to develop his own thinking and his creative power. Never did he blame his student for his mistakes, rather focused on a better trial next time. He had sent the Elda two weeks at Curumo’s forge to study architecture and the building of edifices. Curufin went back, completely ecstatic. </p><p>The Fëanorion often wrote letters to his family, especially to Nerdanel and Fëanor. To his father, he slipped in the envelope rings he forged and to his mother, details about the daily life of Mairon—he mentioned the Maia’s peculiar interest for cooking and food. </p><p>Curufin penetrated into the library, looking for Mairon. He heard giggles. Sitting by the table, there was a woman on the Maia’s lap. She noticed his entry, enthusiastically waving at him, her red glowing eyes shining with mirth. Her skin was grey, her long black dress shining with rich embroidered purple and blue stones. Her white hair with black strands was reunited in one tight bun on the top of her head. To her arms were attached large bat wings. Curufin approached, wary. The lady gasped.</p><p>“What is it?” enquired Mairon.</p><p>“The child… I see a child… With rings. Nine, seven, three and one rings I see,” she recited, her beautiful face contorted with worry. The Maia put a hand on her forehead. His third become white and shone brightly. He sighed. </p><p>“Fret no,” he said to her ear. He whispered, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze and kissed her neck, then intimated her to take her leave. </p><p>She waved Curufin goodbye, opened her wings and flew through the window. </p><p>“Thuringwethil,” explained Mairon. “She works for me.” </p><p>The Noldo sat in front of him, “Is she one of the Maiar? What had happened? The child, the rings…” The Fëanorion’s brows were furrowed with suspicion. </p><p>“She is an Ainu, and what you could call ‘vampire’, although this term is an approximate translation. Her kin is alike the Dryads of Yavanna and the Oarni of Ossë,” detailed the craftsmith. Seeing Curufin’s expression, he continued, “She had a vision, she is gifted with foresight. It does not directly concern you; I would not weigh her words more than necessary. Visions rarely occur at an appropriate time.” Mairon pointed the book the Fëanorion had in hand, “You came to me because you would like a book similar to this one?” Curufin nodded. “I left two or three in the living room that would be relevant. I have another one in mind, although I’m afraid I forgot where in Aman I put it. I will find you once I retrieve it.”</p><p> </p><p>Curufin heard a knock at his door many hours later. “Come in,” he responded. Mairon entered with a bottle, two glasses and a book in hand. “You have four arms,” stated the Ñoldo. The Maia offered him a smile, placing the bottle and the glasses on the nightstand while giving him a book. </p><p>“Let’s say two hands were not enough, considering I had to handle everything and open a door,” chuckled the smith. “I reckon levitation was an option, but I did not give it a thought at the before now.” He snapped and two of his arms reduced to golden dust. He looked around him, and finding the room too dark to his taste, made floating balls of light sprout from his hands. They changed colour, passing from red to purple, and from purple to blue. They lazily moved around the room. Mairon poured a pale brown liquid in the glasses, offering one to his pupil. “This is whiskey,” mentioned the Ainu. “Brewed by Dwarves. Careful, it’s potent.” </p><p>“Speaking of Dwarves,” said Curufin, after taking a sip, “would you speak their language, by chance?”</p><p>Mairon jumped on the bed and sat next to him, looking above his shoulder. On the Noldo’s thighs was opened a book about the different rock layers of the ground in a language he could not understand—he supposed the runes were Dwarvish. </p><p>“Of course, I speak Khuzdul,” answered the craftsmith. “What a shame it would be to be a Maia of Aulë and not know the language he invented for his Children.” </p><p>He browsed through the book and translated the important parts—what mattered the most was his student’s understanding of the soil and its relationship with minerals. Mairon put his glass on the nightstand, laid down, stretching his legs like a cat, and answered the questions of the Fëanorion. Alcohol made its way to Curufin’s senses, daring him to speak about the interconnection of all forms of living and being. His mentor intimated him to pursue and to develop his thoughts, to which the Ñoldo executed himself with pleasure. </p><p>After a certain time—elusive and flying, they both had lost track of it—they stayed in companionable silence. Curufin noticed Mairon only wore trousers with the sari he had gifted him. Absent-mindedly, he traced the patterns of the embroidery with the tip of his fingers. Mairon caught his wrist suddenly. The Elda, startled, took his hand away from the Maia’s stomach. This last one only reached to his other hand that was holding the cup, taking it away to place it next to the other. Never letting go of his protégé’s wrist, the Ainu slowly dragged him down. Curufin gazed at him; Mairon, calm and blissful, had his three eyes half-closed, a content grin painted on his mouth. The Fëanorion faintly brushed the nose bridge of the Maia, going down his nose, touching his lips. Mairon captured his finger between his teeth, nibbled it and let it go. The fingers of Curufin continued their ride, traveling along the jaw to the long pointy ears. He passed his hand through the Ainu’s hair, a warm veil of fire that covered his chest. Curufin felt the strong muscles, went down to the abdominals, before going up, testing this pulpy mouth once more. </p><p>Mairon stirred and rolled to his side, pressing his nose against Curufin’s. His dark red eyes glistened. He whispered words in a secret language. Curufin simply nodded. Two hands cupped his head, lips took possession of his, kissing him gently. The Ñoldo arched his back, moving his hips against the Ainu’s. The Maia grinned and kissed him fiercely. His tongue made its way in Curufin’s mouth. The Elda responded with the same intensity. </p><p>Two hands unbuckled the Fëanorion’s shirt, caressing his chest and bare stomach. Curufin shivered when claws slid on his skin. He buried his head in the hollow of his partner’s nape, sucking the skin, tasting spices he had never before. He gasped when Mairon’s skilful fingers undid his breeches. He pressed his body against the craftsmith’s hand, undulating his hips. The Maia nibbled his earlobe and sang. </p><p>Curufin lost it entirely. </p><p>His nerves shivered. A wave of sweet ecstasy ran through his body. He moaned. Mairon quickly got rid of his trousers, revealing all his bare skin. Soon, the sari and the leggings re-joined the trousers on the floor. The Ñoldo circled the Ainu with his arms and rolled under him, jerking his hips up. Curufin passed his hands between the Maia’s legs, touching his erect member. </p><p>And then.</p><p>“Mairon?” Curufin’s fingers had entered something warm and moist. </p><p>“Why would I put a limit so my body only has the genitals of one sex when I can benefit from the best of both worlds?” Mairon chuckled, affectionately kissing the top of the nose of the Fëanorion. Curufin pondered these words, distracted by the spirit of alcohol that slowed his train of thoughts. He exclaimed when Mairon rode him. </p><p>He was deliberately slow. Why being so hasty when we have forever, grizzled a voice at the back of his mind. The Maia looked at him with a pleased smirk. Curufin sighed of pleasure, entangling his fingers in Mairon’s hair. </p><p>The Ñoldo felt a tingle around his wrists, then his arms and neck. Strands of fire climbed on him. Some went to his mouth and entered. The Ainu kissed his neck, murmuring encouraging words. Something moved underneath Curufin’s skin, suave back and forth waves. He knew Mairon was above him, held in his arms, and yet… He felt warmth enter his veins, going to his heart and being pumped to his members. The serpent of fire tickled his tongue and throat. His legs buzzed, his arms were numb, his stomach burnt. Suddenly, Curufin rasped and gasped for air. He could not breathe, the fire suffocated him. A cool hand drew circles on his chest, soothing the heat. Mairon possessed him, was everywhere, overwhelming. Slowly, his presence retreated. The Maia whispered spells of old and captured the Ñoldo’s lips with his own. The Elda clung on his shoulder, erratically jerking his hips up. </p><p>Everything became light.</p><p>Curufin panted, drifting away. He heard someone calling his name. He felt an arm around his waist. Music waved through his body, slow rhythm of joy. </p><p>For the first time of his life, he felt asleep his eyes closed. </p><p> </p><p>The Ñoldo stirred. His skin was bare, warm against another body of silk. Next to him, Mairon dreamt still, covered by the blankets. Curufin moved closer to the Maia, resting his forehead against the shoulder of his companion. </p><p>He refused to envision the possibility of leaving him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>“Elves do not pierce their skin nor do they tattoo it,” protested Curufin.<p>“Silence,” ordered Mairon, “your tongue, nipples and ears are already pierced and have healed properly. You came to me yourself, asking for a nose ring.” </p><p>“But-”</p><p>“Curufinwë. You make a scene every time. This is your eighth piercing, there is nothing unknown to what will happen.” </p><p>“I can bite him to calm him down, my Lord,” suggested Thuringwethil who witnessed the scene with amusement, hanging upside down on the doorframe. </p><p>Mairon ignored the indignant scoff of his student and pinned him down against the chair, using his other arms to sterilise the nostril. He pierced, put the ring on, washed the blood and patted the Fëanorion’s cheek. “See, it was no torture,” mocked the Maia, who snapped his fingers to make two of his four arms disappear.</p><p>“I don’t feel so good…”</p><p>The Ainu sighed, took the Elda in his arms like a damsel in distress, and laid him on the couch. Mairon placed two fingers on his student’s forehead, murmured some incantations to soothe him. Thuringwethil flew and landed on the sofa next to the couch, staring at Curufin. She made a satisfied sound; the nose ring suited him well. </p><p>“My brothers will shake the entire Valinor when they will see…” started the Fëanorion. </p><p>“Valar are hardly bothered,” shrugged Mairon. “Dwarves and Men commonly wear tattoos, and piercings are no strangers to the Avari. The Orcs consider their skin a canvas to express their art on, it’s Balrogs who realise those tattoos most of the time. I must say Melkor is very pleased.” </p><p>“We are told it is an offence to Eru, Manwë and Varda, because it modifies the body the way it was brought to this world,” frowned Curufin.</p><p>“But of course,” huffed the Maia, resting his chin against his palm, “such an offence Eönwë himself wears this sort of jewellery. I pierced him myself. Ainur love to decorate the forms they take; it is us who taught it to the Incarnates.” He surveyed the Ñoldo’s body from head to toe, “I’m afraid it is a bit too late to turn back time. Consider your jewels as a distinct mark of your presence among us.” He leaned forward, his face inches away from the Elda’s, “Also… Are we not married according to the laws and customs of the Eldar? I have to mark you one way or the other.”</p><p>Curufin violently blushed, turning his face away.</p><p>“Splendid! You are regaining colours,” happily said Mairon. </p><p>The Fëanorion glared. </p><p>Nevertheless, he took the Maia’s hand.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><i>Years later...</i><p>“Ossë was brought back before Ulmo. Fear not, the destruction of the world will not be too soon,” giggled Thuringwethil, resting her head against Curufin’s thigh. </p><p>He was sitting on his bed, playing with the long white locks of the vampire, who often gifted him with her presence. Curious about the Ñoldor and their ways, she had followed Curufin when he had ridden back home, desiring to know more. They had grown close quickly. “Mairon wanders, he often does. Before, he would go to Valmar, take the way of the air, fly and rejoice with Eönwë, but since you left, he delved to the heart of the earth, seeking for its nucleus of fire. He met a certain Osombauko there.” </p><p>The vampire massaged the Ñoldo’s thigh, sighing, “He took interest in things he cared little: the order for the world, its governance, but also, its end.” </p><p>Curufin kissed the top of her head. She purred. “He sometimes visits me in my dreams,” he muffled against her hair. “He ensures I do not lose the connection to my fëa.”</p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>The Ñoldo considered this. “Perhaps… However, my father has been taught by Mahtan how to use his Song, as a blacksmith, he understands what I am doing. He admitted he is unable to teach it to someone who does not know how to use their Music, but he knows how to make me stay connected to it. Also, we found a common ground in our working; he builds swords and I carve them.”</p><p>“Yes, I have heard of the beauty of the Fëanorian swords,” smiled Thuringwethil. She turned and kneeled, facing Curufin with her bright beautiful red eyes, “Be careful of beauty. It attracts vanity. The world is changing at its own pace, languidly slow, but its actors are forcing changes on the path through time.” </p><p>The Elda brushed a thumb on her cheek. Her past words echoed in his memory, a child and rings. He leaned down and kissed her. </p><p>Her fangs pierced through his tongue and his mouth tasted blood.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>He pressed his back against the wall, his brows slightly furrowed. “This is impossible,” he murmured. “The Light of the Trees cannot be taken.”<p>From his chair, Curufin shrugged, “I tell you what I saw. I do not understand why nor how.”</p><p>Mairon crossed his arms and cocked his head, “The spirit of Fëanor is unlike any others. It is his independence who seduced your mother, I remember, proud and eager he was.” The Maia played with a strand of fire, “The Light of the Trees is bigger than him, bigger than <i>us</i>.” He shook his head, resigned. </p><p>Curufin winced at the tone. </p><p>“’The end is nigh’, Thuringwethil prophesied,” articulated the Ainu. “I do not know what your father intends to forge, but he is running to his doom. If I were you, I would flee to Valmar and seek the protection of Manwë—or to the forge of Aulë, so you can be reunited with your grandfather. I warned Nerdanel then, and I am warning you now.”</p><p>“I cannot,” opposed the Fëanorion, “I cannot, and I will not vanish like a thief. My place is here with my family. Nothing has occurred yet—there is nothing for certain. The future itself has an infinity of possibilities, you taught me so.”</p><p>“I did,” nodded the smith. “Dear one, remember when I said to think forward than your existence, and to calculate the impact of your actions could have to the next ten generation? If you disregard this principle, it will lead to destruction, and you shall not assist to the world’s rebuild. Immortal or not, your body allows you to exist outside the design of the Valar, which will be impossible once you fade or are slain. Your fëa then will become a note of Valarin music, nothing more, nothing less.” </p><p>“Why are you like this,” Curufin grew irritated, “why do you come and loathe about an end that has yet to come? You once spoke about forging an improved world, but now, you act like we are defeated. Certainly, the Light of the Trees is beyond our understanding, but how can you predict the collapse of the world from the craft of my father? Why can’t you admit an Incarnate can accomplish greater than the Ainur?” </p><p>The third eye that remained closed suddenly opened and stared at the Ñoldo, its gaze piercing through him. Mairon moved to him like a snake. Curufin stood up, alert. The Maia touched his forehead and he fell.</p><p>Curufin heard sounds he had never heard before. Low drumming shook through him, making the earth tremble. Rocked by percussions, he saw dark smoke emerge from the earth, dominating the sky and the land. Its presence was everywhere, ethereal and powerful. </p><p>A tall figure floated before him, his long black hair waving in the wind, his reptilian skin glowing like the infinity of stars, his claws sharper than metal, his tall dark bat wings greater than the sky, his voice brighter than heaven and his eyes bluer than the sea. </p><p>The world collapsed onto itself, shrieking into a pearl of starlight. The stars chanted; the universe resonated. Curufin was overwhelmed by the Music, exhausted from the knowledge that seized him. He witnessed the earth die, consumed by time, until it was brought anew. </p><p>A force pushed his fëa away and left him in the dark.</p><p>He stood alone. </p><p>There danced nothing but silence in the immensity. </p><p>“Well met, son of Fëanor.”</p><p>Blue eyes shone with gentleness in the middle of the blackness. The cosmos extended its clawed hand. Curufin took it. </p><p>The Ñoldo was brought back to reality like a Man swam to the surface. His lungs searched for air. He gasped, coughed and panted. He grasped the familiar arms that were around him, resting his head against a chest he learnt to love. Mairon hold and rocked him. </p><p>“What do I do with this knowledge of the future?” asked Curufin, after a moment. There was too much he saw, too much he heard, too much he knew.</p><p>“You prevent it the best you can,” what the answered. The Maia added nothing; he needed not to. The Fëanorion had been a witness. He knew. </p><p>The Ñoldo extricated himself from the embrace. He gazed at the window. “What if the Light of the Trees fades,” he started, but stopped, he did not have the heart to continue. He could not foresee a way to stop his father to forge greater than him. </p><p>“There shall be darkness for a time,” Mairon came next to him. “Ilúvatar is resourceful, other beings will be created to accomplish his Design, and to bring light once more.” </p><p>Curufin slided his hands around the Ainu’s waist and put his head on his shoulder. “It was too intense for what I can bear,” he softly cried. “There was the end of everything before me, and then, the universe was reborn. No words were told, but I understood it all like I spoke their language.”</p><p>“This is how us Ainur think,” Mairon drew circles on the Elda’s back. “I gave you access to my memory of the Discord, although there has been an interference to that memory. I was young and could not sing, neither understand.” </p><p>The Fëanorion turned his head. He felt a presence around him, against the walls, dancing in the light, wandering through his fëa. It was not Mairon. “Someone spoke to me…” he muffled against the Ainu’s neck. </p><p>“It was Melkor.”</p><p>The voice of Maia was a caress in the air. </p><p> </p><p>From afar, the Great Vala grinned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's going to be exciting, I promise. </p><p>On another note, I am disappointed Meássë and Makar weren't kept in the later mythology of the Ainulindalë. Go check them out, they were the Valar of War, and aligned with Melko during the Discord. Oromë was Aulë's and Yavanna's son, and Gothmog was Melko's son. The Lost Tales are fun. I had to share it. We get a bit more of Ossë too (he has a palace of pearls down the sea). </p><p>Note #2: Currently reading The Children of Húrin, it's read like a novel, it's excellent. Thingol's humour is daddy humour lol </p><p>[Chapter notes, but it's the author taking the occasion to pour his useless ramblings onto his poor readers]</p><p>Happy Canada's Day to my fellow Canucks, et bonne St-Jean une semaine en retard à ma belle nation québécoise!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. PART IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Where the archive warning applies.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Curufin stared at the waves with bitterness. The waters were grim and hostile. They did not drown them only because Ulmo had mercy, but did he? The Fëanorion could feel the wrath of the Vala of the Sea creeping in the dark. He walked between the carcasses of the Teleri ships with regret and guiltiness. He had no power to undo the past. He touched the burnt wood, then looked at his hand darkened with ashes, his gaze cold and empty. He heard a laughter at the back of his mind. Melkor mocked him.</p><p>“Curvo! Come on!” </p><p>Celegorm waved at him, inciting his to go back to them. His father, slightly behind the hunter, stared at Curufin, his arms crossed. The craftsmith locked eyes with him, and a silent understanding passed between them. </p><p>Fëanor, the proud Fëanor, dispossessed from his silmarils. Separated from his wife.  </p><p>His seven sons dispossessed from their soul. </p><p>The Doom of Mandos had torn their fëa apart. While the other had shivered, Curufin had bled, clunching his hands on his chest, sobbing for his heart to beat again. He had cried the loss of everything he had known. He was consumed by the desire to go back, to reach the forge of Aulë, to reunite with his mother, to be healed by Mahtan whose hands were unafraid of wounds of life. He missed Mairon deeply. His love for his father and his brothers had won. </p><p>He had sworn the Oath. </p><p>Blinded by resent, he did not feel that two large wings embraced him. Fëanor and Celegorm had left, giving him privacy. </p><p>“I flew as fast as I could.”</p><p>Thuringwethil. </p><p>The Ñoldo cried in her breast.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>Curufin, perched in a tree, observed the moon coldly. Motionless. Thuringwethil hang upside down next to him, her wings covering her body like a cocoon.<p>He thought of the Sea. </p><p>Every time Curufin washed himself or drank, he felt the mockery of Ossë, his hatred of the House of Fëanor falling on them like an everlasting rain. He had heard Eru forbade Ulmo from intervening during the kinslaying of Alqualondë. The Noldo shivered at this thought; Melkor himself feared the Lord of the Waters, his domain was immense and terrifying. The Doom of the Ñoldor felt like a pale consolation to what awaited his people if they sank under the ocean. </p><p>“Someone is coming,” Thuringwethil interrupted his thoughts. </p><p>“Who?” </p><p>The vampire shrugged and scratched her head with her claws—her mimics did resemble those of a bat. “One of your people. I cannot tell his identity, he is unknown to me,” she replied. </p><p>Curufin sighed. He hummed. His music pierced through the newcomer, revealing his identity. Dread fell upon him like a curse. Fangs nibbled his cheek. “Should I stay or should I go?” Red eyes gazed at him with concern. </p><p>“I think it would be preferable if you went,” he kissed her nose tenderly. “Do not stay far, I may need you.” She giggled and flew to another tree.</p><p>The smith waited, staring at the jewel in the sky, rubbing his wristband. Someone climbed in the tree and sat next to him.</p><p>“Nelyo told me you would be here.” </p><p>Curufin closed his eyes. His strength vanished. </p><p>“Don’t do this, Curvo, look at me.”</p><p>The Fëanorion turned his head and looked, his gaze wounded and broken. He recognised the golden mane and the benevolent smile. “Why are you here,” his voice was hollow. </p><p>“Artanis moved to Doriath, and I followed her to Beleriand, and continued my way to meet with Turgon, because Uncle Fingolfin would move mountains for Uncle Fëanor and crossed the Great Ice. So, we went with him. Uncle Finarfin and the two others have stayed in Aman.” </p><p>Curufin glared, unshaken. Finrod understood. His cousin had no desire to hear about the whereabouts of the family.</p><p>“Oh, I,” he sighed, “I missed Maedhros and Fingon, and I had word you were in Himring—Irissë is with your brother in Himlad, I almost travelled with her to you and Tyelko’s land.” He paused, then murmured, “I am sorry for Uncle Fëanor, I heard he was…” The word ‘dead’ echoed between them like a ghost. </p><p>Curufin did not reply. His cousin observed him, sensing something had changed. Felagund frowned, “Piercings and tattoos are an offence to the Valar.” The Fëanorion’s body was only covered with loose pants and his sari was draped around his waist, revealing his bare torso. The tip of Finrod’s fingers touched Curufin’s nipples, then travelled to his nostril. </p><p>“If you think Valar bother with corporal decorations,” huffed the Fëanorion. “It is a Maia himself who pierced me.” He did not talk about his tattoo. He cared not it was exposed to the public sight. He owed no one explanations.</p><p>His cousin drew his hand away from the smith’s body. “I can see the year—or 144 years of the Sun—with Mairon the Admirable had changed you.” </p><p>“I wish it only was this time spent with him. There is a lot more,” choked Curufin. “I did not listen to his warnings when atya extracted the Light from the Trees, I swore the Oath, I slaughtered, atya is dead, Mandos cast a doom on us, but…”</p><p>The Fëanorion weakly smiled, his voice veiled with tears, “I am going to be a father.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><i>Years ago</i><p>The gates were raised, magnificent and imposing. Magic impregnated the air, tangible and powerful. The ground trembled. The gates opened. He entered. Immediately, he was seized by Urûk guards. They took his weapons away, ransacked him, put a blindfold on his eyes and he was walked farther with two guards taking his arms, the tip of a sword blade lightly pressed against his back as a warning. He heard an Orc speak softly to his horse. He sighed, reassured; they could torment and torture him, but may Manwë have mercy on his horse, spare the poor creature. After climbing long stairs, they removed the blindfold. A strong hand grabbed his neck and pushed him down, intimating him to kneel. </p><p>Curufin had penetrated into Angband. </p><p>The floor and the columns were made of granite, the walls were of white bricks, painted with complex runes. There were many exotic plants that decorated the room. He risked a glance through the window and was surprised by the luxuriant jungle that stood before his eyes. </p><p>“It is naïve to believe our land is only made of dark smoke and desolation,” a voice mocked him in his head. </p><p>Light shone bright to the centre of the room. </p><p>The Lieutenant made an appearance. There was nothing left of the gentleness that inhabited him long ago. He was tall and proud, his stature exhaled authority, his armour transpired strength. Gorthaur the Cruel, Sauron the Abhorred, Lieutenant of Morgoth, this is how he was called. Mairon the Admirable was an entity of the past, locked in memories and the creation of the world. He addressed the Urûks in their language. The guards nodded and exited. </p><p>“Stand up,” he ordered. Curufin obeyed. </p><p>Sauron circled the smith, “You are surprised to see Angband is a gate to a hidden dimension on Middle Earth, you are shocked to observe the land is fertile and the climate clement, you are confused by the appearance of the Urûks, who are not as despicable as told in the stories, and you are envious to realise they have a culture that survives ages and wars.” </p><p>The Ñoldo tightened his teeth. The Maia was not wrong, but he had not come to praise Orcish history and customs. </p><p>The Lieutenant walked to the throne and let himself heavily fall on the seat. “You have come to have answers,” he stated, crossing his legs. “Speak; I listen.”</p><p>Curufin did not know where to start. He desired to confront Sauron for not following his own advice and succumbing to darkness. He wanted to know the deepest motives behind Morgoth’s schemes. He wondered if the Valar foresaw the end of the world, he wondered if his father knew or was merely blinded with pride and greed. </p><p>Why did Mairon abandon Aulë? Curumo? His mother? What had happened at the forge? </p><p>He remembered when he met Melkor, the overwhelming knowledge followed by the hand that did not let him down to the Void and nothingness. Perhaps… Perhaps there was something.</p><p>“How do you conjure the Oath and the Doom of the Ñoldor?” he heard himself blurt out. </p><p>“You cannot.”</p><p>“What?” His voice was an empty faint.</p><p>“You cannot,” repeated Sauron. “Not for this incarnation, at least, although Mandos seemed to cast a curse to your hröa only. Will he allow you to repent? I do not know.”</p><p>“But my mother! And my grandfather! Will I ever see them one more time?” cried Curufin, on the verge of despair. </p><p>“I do not know,” the Maia’s words were brief and sharp. </p><p>The Ñoldo fell on his knees. He had lost everything. There was no hope, no light. He glanced at Sauron through his tears, pleading. On the beautiful, oh so beautiful! face of the Lieutenant was painted no emotion. Slowly, the Ainu raised from his throne. He kneeled in front of Curufin and took his wrist. “I see you did not give away everything you had,” he murmured, brushing the wristband he gave to the Fëanorion long ago. “Wipe your tears and follow me.”  </p><p>They went through long corridors. The Elda noticed how sublime they were—the Urûk architects were superior to the Ñoldor. They entered a room made of gold and copper. Two figures sat by the table, playing chess and amicably laughing. Curufin instinctively stepped away.</p><p>A Balrog. </p><p>This last one noticed him, “Hey, Mai, what do you bring us?”</p><p>“His former protégé,” replied the other figure, not looking at them. “Gothmog, pay attention to the game, your Queen is in danger.” </p><p>Realisation washed Curufin like a cold wave. Before him were Gothmog, the High Captain of the Balrogs, and The One Who Arises in Might. The most powerful Vala. The Dark Lord.</p><p>Morgoth. </p><p>“It is me. Well met, Atarinkë Curufinwë, it is good to see you once more,” his bright voice waltzed around the room. The Ñoldo froze. All his thoughts were heard by the Dark Lord. He knew not what to do.</p><p>The Vala was both the most terrifying and the most attractive being Curufin had ever laid his eyes on. The blue eyes of Melkor, pale as a clear sky finally met his. Instantly, the smith felt at ease, his apprehension vanished. </p><p>“Come, draw yourself a seat,” invited the Vala. </p><p>“Checkmate,” whistled Sauron who was observing the chess game above Gothmog’s shoulder. The Balrog cheered and clapped his hands. The Dark Lord glanced at the chess and conceded; Gothmog indeed had won.  They shook hands and Melkor dismissed his Captain. This last one passed a hand through his Lord’s hair, chuckled and exited. </p><p>Melkor reposed his chin on his palms, glanced at Curufin with a tranquil expression and a soft smile. The Ñoldo furtively looked at Sauron, nervous. “Tell me child,” the deep voice of the Dark Vala chanted, “why is it that you seek the help of the Ainur?” </p><p>“My Lord,” the Fëanorion choked, “I am cursed and bound to an Oath. What can I do?” </p><p>“If a wish is granted, a payment must be made,” warned Sauron. Melkor hummed. </p><p>“It is not within my power to undo the Oath from your hröa—the only way to do so lies in death. You were doomed by Mandos; you do not desire to spend eternity in his Halls once you are slain, do you?” the Vala licked his fangs. Curufin shook his head. “There are things I can perhaps mould to my liking—mine, because of course, Námo’s doing remains within Eru’s Music, from which the Valar and all beings emanated, even I, but I have power and knowledge others do not,” pursued the Dark Lord. Sauron huffed. “I can grant you more freedom. Your hröa shall be bound to the protection of the silmarils rather than their recovery. I can also ensure your fëa will never be in the hands of Mandos.”</p><p>“Freedom,” repeated the Ñoldo.</p><p>“Yes. The possibility of living a life without being driven by the great jewels.”</p><p>The smith, tempted, slowly nodded. The Lieutenant watched him carefully. Melkor grinned, “I know you are driven by regret and dream of turning back time to stay behind with your mother. However, if you submit to my magic, you may never see her again.”</p><p>“This will not change anything to my curse,” weakly shrugged the Fëanorion.</p><p>“Do you not understand I offer you the Gift of Death, Jewel Maker?” </p><p>“I-, yes? No? Death is the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men, but-”</p><p>“Dwarves, Ents, Urûks, the animals, the fishes, the plants, they all go somewhere we know not after their ultimate breath. This is where you shall go if you choose my path. You are already doomed. Son of Fëanor, what is your decision?” </p><p>The Elda stared at his hands. </p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>And...</p><p>“I will do it.”</p><p>Curufin trembled. Sauron stiffed, gazing at his Lord. The Dark Vala smiled widely and put the chess away. Sudden thunder shook the entire edifice. </p><p>“Lieutenant. Lie him down.” </p><p>Without warning, the back on the Ñoldo was abruptly slammed against the table. </p><p>“Undress him.” </p><p>The eyes of Sauron were expressionless and calculative. He executed himself with no ceremony, only leaving leggings on Curufin. A strong clawed hand of steel brushed his bare chest. “I see that you pierced him already,” noticed Melkor with satisfaction. “Call Thuringwethil.” Sauron nodded. His third eye glowed. </p><p>Long iron snakes slipped on the Fëanorion and bonded his ankles, legs, arms and wrists to the table. He was unable to move. He looked at Sauron, he was not going to be tortured, was he? </p><p>The door opened. “You summoned me, Master?” </p><p>“Thuri’, dear,” exclaimed Melkor. “Give me your hands.” </p><p>Curufin heard psalmodies behind him. Hair of fire tickled his face. Mairon. The Maia faintly smiled, murmured reassurances to his ear and passed his claws through his hair. The Ñoldo leaned in the touch. </p><p>Thuringwethil climbed on the table and sat on the Fëanorion, her thighs against his waist. She laid on the Ñoldo. “This will hurt, but I need you to stay still,” she said, her mouth against his. She kissed Curufin, caressed his ears, trailed her mouth along his jaw, reached his neck and bit. The jewel-smith hissed. Acute pain irradiated when the vampire drank his blood away. He moaned. He tried to move but was tied to the table. He panted. He felt pain in his chest, arms and legs. Spasms shook his body. </p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>Melkor had spoken, his voice strong and clear. Thuringwethil looked at him expectedly. “You may start,” ordered the Vala. </p><p>Two forearms squeezed his head and two thumbs applied pressure on his collarbones. Curufin glanced up, his vision blurred by the loss of blood. Mairon was here. </p><p>Thuringwethil raised her claws. Green liquid fell from her hands. </p><p>She tore Curufin’s skin. </p><p>The poison penetrated his veins and travelled to his heart. His entire body ached. The vampire traced precise pattern on his chest and his shoulders. Her claws went through his muscles, hitting his bones. The Fëanorion screamed. His bonds forbade him to move. He needed to extract himself from this torture. He could not endure the pain. Blood escaped his body. He felt each drop crash down. His skin was covered in sweat. Pain took possession of him. He screamed, screamed and screamed. </p><p>The world around him turned. He was slipping away.</p><p>“Curufinwë. Curufinwë. Stay among the living. Do not join the dead.” </p><p>The ache faded. Thuringwethil had stopped. He breathed in. He moaned. Sauron slowly nodded.</p><p>Claws drew in his skin again. A loud death rattle resonated through the walls. Time ran slower than eternity. Blood covered the table, falling on the floor like acid rain. A hand appeared above him. Melkor chanted in a language only known of the Aratar. Dark smoke filled in the room and penetrated through the Fëanorion’s eyes, nostrils and mouth. Curufin choked, suffocating. He could not breathe. Wounded and injured, he tried to yell, but his voice had died. His mouth tasted like sulphur and ashes. Fire burnt his stomach. </p><p>Tears fell from his eyes in the shape of black smoke. </p><p>His ears buzzed. Suffering and exhausted, he rasped. </p><p>Thuringwethil was no longer above him. </p><p>Someone freed his members and took him in their arms. His hair and back were drowned in his blood, his legs were entirely soaked. Black smoke came out from the injuries the vampire had done. “Sleep.” a honeyed voice murmured. </p><p>Curufin passed out.</p><p> </p><p>When he woke up, sunlight illuminated the room and wind caressed his skin. He was under comfortable and warm covers. Someone had washed and taken care of him. </p><p>He listened to the birds sing. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. His wounded chest and shoulders hurt still. The Ñoldo could no longer stay awake and fell asleep. </p><p> </p><p>He came back to reality. Hands were washing his face. An Urûk. He did not know him. He looked at the dark purple skin and the long heavy black braids in confusion. The Urûk noticed he was awake, cupped the back of his head and approached a bowl of water from his mouth. Curufin drank. Water slipped in his throat like a relief. The Orc gently put his head back on the pillow, addressed him a few words and went out the room. The Fëanorion sighed. He attempted to recall the past events, but his memory played him tricks and refused to respond to his demand. There was nothing but the Void. </p><p>Sedated, he stared at the ceiling. The sun was low in the sky. He heard footsteps coming close by. Someone sat next to him. Curufin slowly turned his head, expecting to see one of his brothers, but encountered no one else than Sauron. He opened his mouth. </p><p>“Do not speak,” advised the Maia. “Your body has not recovered yet. Use your thoughts; I shall hear them.” </p><p>Questions burnt in the grey eyes of the Ñoldo.</p><p>“One thing at a time,” intimated his former teacher. “I came to check on you. I will answer your interrogations only the day when you will walk without fainting. Fret not, you are in good hands.” </p><p>It took a little over a week for Curufin to recover. Elves were born strong, and he was aided by Melkor’s magic. Sauron came daily, as well as the Urûk healer. </p><p>Thuringwethil peered at the door, then decided against her doubts, flew and landed on the bed next to the jewel-smith. Curufin had walked for the first time in days and was now resting. She took his hand and brought his knuckles to her mouth to kiss them. The Elda squirmed under the touch. </p><p>He had been explained by Sauron he was in Angband, recovering from the ritual that sealed his allegiance to Lord Melkor. He was freed from the Oath of Fëanor but was now bound to the protection of the silmarils. His fëa was forever denied access to Valinor, save for Mandos’ mercy. Blood had been drawn from his body and replaced by dark smoke, transfused by the Dark Vala himself. Melkor, Sauron had detailed, poured fragments of his power and energy into his creations and his servants. The air, trees and buildings of Angband constituted of Melkor; volcanoes, Urûks, werewolves and dragons were impregnated of his being; his Balrogs and faithful servants were grafted parts of him. Angband, Urûks, Balrogs, dragons <i>were</i> Melkor, they were emanations of his spirit. If his power declined, it was only illusionary, for it was dispersed in everything he touched. Curufin was linked to the Vala; his hröa, his thoughts, his actions, his life, nothing would escape the Dark Lord, because they were his, and new parts of him. </p><p>Curufin had wondered what his role was. Sauron had replied he was a spy of Melkor. His position as son of Fëanor offered a valuable source of information, and it was the orders of his Lord the Ñoldo would pursue his life as if nothing had happened. The Elda could never rebel. Melkor would know. His own mind itself would bring him back to fidelity of the Vala if he tried to extract himself from his power. </p><p>The Fëanorion had wanted to ask about him, Mairon. Sauron had smirked; long ago he and Melkor had made an agreement in the forge of Aulë, soon after Ossë was brought back before Ulmo. It only concerned the Dark Lord and his Lieutenant. </p><p>Before departing, Sauron had communicated his interest to see the jewel-smith’s newest works.</p><p> </p><p>Skilful hands undid his dressing gown. Thuringwethil delicately touched the complex pattern on Curufin’s skin she had done in the name of Melkor. The scars were of a dark blue colour. They would never heal, there were the official signature of his vow of allegiance to the Vala. They no longer hurt. The vampire went under the covers. Pressing her head on the Fëanorion’s shoulder, she asked, “How do you feel?”</p><p>He shrugged. The Oath kept him captive, had pulled his being every day, an invisible force had pushed him forward without direction. He no longer was oppressed by the magic of his father. Curufin passed an arm around Thuringwethil and rested his hand on her hip. She crossed her legs with his and gazed at him. She was hungry. She captured his mouth and rubbed her hips against his groin. The Ñoldo arched his back, firmly taking her butt in his hands.</p><p>The vampire rode him. </p><p>She drank.</p><p>He came in her with a cry. </p><p>Curufin slipped in Irmo’s realm covered with two bat wings and long white locks, a heart beating against his chest.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><i>Doriath, First Age</i><p>The Fëanorion was pinned on the ground, a spear piercing through his thigh. </p><p>He had failed.</p><p> </p><p>He had lived the past centuries freed from the Oath. He only had to assist to family reunions with Melkor’s eyes and Melkor’s ears. </p><p>Thuringwethil had fallen pregnant. She had birthed Celebrimbor at Angband under the good care of Sauron. Curufin had come as soon as he could, had given his brother his favourite excuse that was, “I am traveling with Men”. Celegorm had pressed him with questions, Curufin had shown his tattoo—Celegorm had understood. He knew nothing of the real nature of the scars, but the jewel-smith’s body modifications marked his past amongst other than Eldar. </p><p>Curufin remembered the first time he had hold the baby. Melkor had sneered—Tyelpë looked like Finwë. The Dark Vala had hold the elfling with a single hand, nostalgic of the first Urûk borns he had given life to. The smith and Thuringwethil had moved back to Himlad, raising the child at peace away from trouble. </p><p>One day, Thuringwethil had gone, called back home by her Master. </p><p>Celebrimbor had parted ways during the deeds of Celegorm and Lúthien. Conflict had arisen. Curufin had never told him about his allegiance to Morgoth and his past-liaison with Sauron.</p><p>But he had taught him everything he knew. </p><p> </p><p>Melkor had instructed him to follow his brothers until Doriath. He had commanded him to fight as if it was part of his design to fight for the silmaril. He then had ordered to slaughter both his soldiers and Doriathrins. </p><p>A child had faced him, his eyes haunted, his face covered with dust and blood. A child as beautiful as the Maiar. A sword had wielded through his back, cutting his breath short. He had fallen. The blade had pierced through his stomach. The warrior had taken the spear that was pinned in a corpse next to them, plunged it in his thigh and the ground, and had escaped with the child. </p><p>Curufin had been defeated by no one else than the Prince of Doriath, Oropher. </p><p> </p><p>Black smoke flew from Curufin’s wounds, he bled no more, he could not. He was dying. He rasped amid desolation. Panic seized him; he was fading. Where would he go? Where were his brothers, Amrod and Amras? What did happen to them after death? Was there an afterlife? </p><p>The Fëanorion would never be able to reunite with his family again. His brothers, Nerdanel, Fëanor, Mahtan… He shed no tears. Dark smoke ran from his eyes and trekked to the sky, rocked by the breeze. </p><p>A circle of fire rose around him. An angelic figure appeared next to him and took him in their arms. </p><p>Curufin smiled, “I wondered if I would see you last…” </p><p>Sauron did not reply. He tightened his embrace. </p><p>“Thuringwethil died…” </p><p>The Lieutenant slowly nodded. </p><p>“Mairon, please, look after Tyelpë… I beg you. My son, my only son…” The Ñoldo violently coughed. He laboriously breathed, “Keep him away from the horrors of the world. I tried, but I did not succ-…” Curufin could not finish his sentence. His hröa slowly decomposed into smoke. He rested his head against the Maia’s stomach. </p><p>Sauron brought his mouth to the Ñoldo’s and spat fire. </p><p>Just like Fëanor, Curufin combusted.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><i>Ost-in-Edhil, Second Age</i><p>“I am a messenger of Aulë. I am Annatar, the Lord of Gifts. I came to share my knowledge now that evil has departed from the world.” </p><p>This is how he had presented himself. Ethereal, surreal and beautiful, the fair Maia had claimed to be emissary of the Valar. </p><p>He proved to be excellent at his work, and thoroughly versatile; he had helped many of the smiths to forge armours and weapons and forge the most delicate jewels. Celebrimbor, distrustful, had observed his work. </p><p> </p><p>One day, his eye caught something.</p><p>“I know this technique,” the Ñoldo articulated, “my father… He did it too. He taught me how to, but I never have tried to do it.” Perplexed, he scrutinised the Maia, “He told me he had was trained by my grandfather, but also by Aulendur and one of the Maiar… You… You knew him, didn’t you?”</p><p>Annatar stopped his work. “What was his name?” He feigned ignorance. He had gone through Celebrimbor’s memories to realise the Elda knew close to nothing concerning his father’s service to the Dark Lord and the nature of his mother. </p><p>“Curufin Atarinkë Curufinwë Fëanorion,” recited Celebrimbor. </p><p>The Maia smirked, “Yes… I may have met him.” </p><p>He continued his work. </p><p> </p><p>Celebrimbor warmed up in his presence. The Ñoldo was avid of knowledge. He was overwhelmed with questions. The bound had been broken with his father, but his heart yearned to heal the wounds. He mourned the father who raised him with love and care. He also interrogated Annatar about his mother. Her white hair and her lullabies were his only memories of her. The Maia failed to fully answer his questions, but Celebrimbor was confident he would have access to the weavings of Vairë once he would sail to Aman. Annatar sighed and sent him a pitiful side-glance. </p><p>“Train me,” Celebrimbor said, one night.</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Train me,” repeated the Curufinwion, straight and determined.</p><p>Annatar crossed his arms, “Why do you look forward to my teachings?”</p><p>“Because I,” the smith exhaled heavily, “desire to outshine my grandfather.”</p><p>“Yes, we could do that,” the Ainu cocked his head. “When do we start?” </p><p>Almost defiantly, Celebrimbor took one of the rings on the table, threw it in the air and caught it. “Today.” </p><p>The Maia of Melkor licked his lips and grinned; the prophecy of Thuringwethil shall be fulfilled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. EPILOGUE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>The Halls of Nienna, Fourth Age</i> </p>
<p>The King of the Valar looked through the window of the Walls of the World. He sighed. A comforting mist circled him. Nienna brushed her hand through his four wings. “Come with me,” her voice echoed in his mind. He nodded. </p>
<p>They walked on the balcony. Underneath them lied the world. There was no place in Middle Earth that escaped their gaze. The eyes of Manwë were veiled with grief, mourning, longing and regret. He clenched a hand to his heart. Gently, Nienna took his hand away from his chest and intertwined her fingers with his. </p>
<p>“He is not entirely gone,” she whispered, her words a soft caress on his cheeks. “Look! Look at the world before you.” </p>
<p>Manwë glanced upon Arda. The Mannish and Dwarvish realms flourished; even so, the one of the Elvenking Thranduil who had yet to sail with his kin. His hawk eyes widened, impressed by the prosperity of the realms that were once corrupted by the Dark Lords—Khan, Rhûn and Harad. He saw plains, oases, green forests and lush jungles, great temples and pyramids. </p>
<p>“When the Ring was destroyed, the magic of Melkor faded with it, and revealed all what your brother kept hidden away from us,” Nienna explained. “His lands of destruction were a mere mirage to protect the architecture and mathematical genius of the Balrogs and Urûks, who taught it all to the Men who joined his ranks.” </p>
<p>The Lord of the Valar did not reply. He was frozen in loss and disbelief. </p>
<p>“Do not falter, my Lord,” she murmured to his ear. “Death if the Gift of Men from Ilúvatar, but also the original fate to the One Who Arises in Might. It was inevitable. His legacy is strong and against all of our expectations.” </p>
<p>The Vala considered him. His long feathers his usually kept high as a headdress were lowered against his back. </p>
<p>“You fear for Mairon, don’t you? He is with his Master, somewhere in the Void, where mortal souls pursue their eternal race. But,” she added, “Aulë grieves greatly.”</p>
<p>Manwë trembled lightly. Nienna drew him close. </p>
<p>“Dear, dear,” she hushed, brushing her fingers in his hair-like feathers. “They say in Harad a Man truly dies when there is no one to remember. You shall never forget Melkor, for you are eternal.”</p>
<p>The Fëantur desintegrated into a waltz of blue dust and mist. The King felt her materialise next to Olórin and Curumo in the Halls of Waiting. He looked at the sky, praying the stars to give him strength. </p>
<p>Manwë wept.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>